


what the water gave me

by demios



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alphascape spoilers, Gen, Patch 4.5: A Requiem For Heroes Spoilers, more dragon headcanons, pitiful attempts at archaic english, square enix NERFED my dad and im sad about it always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 14:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/pseuds/demios
Summary: They cannot hear him, but they can feel him.





	what the water gave me

**Author's Note:**

> (points at midgardsormr) You are my dad… you're my dad! (boogie woogie woogie)  
> i hastily wrote this between things so excuse the mistakes lol

They cannot hear him, but they can feel him.

Midgardsormr’s breaths are slow as he sleeps, each one entangled in the Warrior of Light’s steady heartbeat.

On certain days, they wake expecting him to be curled on the bed sheets like a coeurl kitten, feeling disoriented when there is nothing in the inn room but themselves and the still morning. They find themselves habitually sectioning off a portion of their meals, waiting for the leathery flank of a dragonet to brush their cheek when he deigns to rest on their shoulder. The warrior continues to anticipate an ancient voice that makes their skull feel cavernous when they take to writing in their journal, or a slim tail wrapped around their wrist when they grasp a quill. None of it comes, of course. The small wings flitting out of the corner of their vision always belong to a someone else.

The wilderness is no less strange without a companion. When no others are around, they want for a scaled hide to lean against during their travels, to listen to the rumbling growl of Midgardsormr’s amusement as he supports their weary body. It feels as though something is missing when his form does not curl into a crescent around them as they sit by a crackling fire - it is silent, and they have naught but the beasts and stars above for company.

The covenant still binds them, but the barrier is membranous now. His consciousness spills over into theirs, sometimes, like catching the overflow from a chalice of frigid water. A phenomenon they think might be his own design, a parting gift of sorts for his chosen when he could no longer speak.

It is like the Echo, but far more intimate and subtle. The warrior lets his memories wash over them and carry them away in the gentle tide. The vestiges of his song imprints images into their mind, causes scents from long ago to linger in their nose, lets their mortal form hold the realm with the same infinite vastness he did once. When they gaze up at the night sky and its bright constellations, they find a hint of longing for home, somewhere beyond the heavens and emptiness of space.

In Dravania, they visit his kin. Vidofnir receives them at Anyx Trine warmly and dragonets butt their heads against the warrior playfully. The scene is familiar in more ways than one, the sight of pilgrims from Ishgard and curious dragons making them nostalgic. Though he laid dormant beneath Silvertear Falls, he felt the quiet joy of peace coursing down his winding spine after it had been taut and ravaged from war. Mortal affairs changed with the seasons, blooming and withering in the blink of an eye, but even he could savor the respite from suffering and take solace in his children’s prosperity.

In the Churning Mists, they make for Zenith, exposed skin tingling with cold air. Where it was once a home to dragons flying amongst the grand spires, only abandoned ruins remain.

In his slumber, his children graced him with images of harmony and war, of firm steel and gentle hands, of highest hope and fathomless despair. From the bottom of Silvertear did he feel Hraesvelgr’s heart soar as he whiled away bells listening to Shiva’s voice, her small palms thawing him to his core. He knew the full extent of Nidhogg’s realm-shaking rage, his deafening requiem that carried across the land in his grief. And he felt the last of Ratataskor’s love for mortals, unwaning even as her eyes were torn from her skull.

When they summon him, Hraesvelgr is content to sit with them in Sohr Khai, overlooking the clouds as they listen to the ghost of Ratataskor sing. He does not question _why_ when they ask him to weave another of her melodies. His voice is rusted from centuries of disuse, tinged with a doleful air that did not touch his brood sister’s words. But it carries her memory all the same, as if she was perched among the crumbling stone herself to bless the skies once more.

On the flight back to the Churning Mists, Hraesvelgr hums between heavy wingbeats, a deep and rich sound. “The final boon my sire did request of me before he returned to slumber… he beseeched my aid as if thou were one of his own brood.”

The warrior takes a strange comfort in that, a smile gracing their lips even after Hraesvelgr departs.

In Azys Lla, they meet Tiamat in the Delta Quadrant, instinctively following the imperceptible waves of sorrow that radiate from her bound form. Her kin howl in the distance, altered and bred into madness. She only listens to their choir, never joining.

She, in contrast, is deathly calm. It is not peace, but penance until the end of her days. Her cries of anguish have been smothered by guilt, mere echoes in the far reaches of her heart. Midgardsormr dreamt of her, too, and the spaces where Bahamut should have been at her side.

“Thou wouldst wish for me to bear a message to him when he wakes?” She asks, her soft voice slowly breaching their thoughts to not startle them.

They nod. _When_ is a curious thing to consider. It could be moons, years, _eons_ until the Wyrmking is released from slumber again. The warrior doesn't know if they would see it in their lifetime, and the thought unsettles them.

“Child of light,” Her usual melancholy is tinged by amusement. “Dost thou not thinkest him able to hear thy voice? My sire sleeps, that is true. But he still lives. Around, inside, above, below… his essence pervades this star yet.”

They know this - they feel traces of him in the ambient aether, in the quiet breaths between battles. But the faint remnants of him are not _him,_ and their voice cannot fully reach him, even if they are able to commune with beings as intangible as the Elementals.

Tiamat seems to sense their quandary, her head tilting the barest amount. “Perhaps thou thinkest a mortal soul to be but a brief flicker to our kin - that without a means of permanence, thy memory wouldst be inconsequential.”

She's framed their anxieties perfectly; consorting with the immortal and divine made them forget their place among mortals. It was easy, when they had slain gods and man over and over again. Never did they think their own mortality to be so inconvenient until now.

Tiamat pauses, then allows herself an airy chirp with fangs bared - a fond laugh. “I doubt my brood brother would forsake Shiva even if they were not joined in spirit. But if it would bringeth thee some measure of peace, I will tell him. Come, speaketh thy mind…”

They sit on the plateau of stone before her, regaling her with their travels since his absence. The charged air of Azys Lla feels like a thundercloud fit to burst on a summer’s day, the lightning humming through them with each word until they have nothing more to give.

“I feel as though I will have so much more to say.” They confess, feeling slightly embarrassed at keeping Tiamat for so long.

“Then I would welcome another visit, little one.” She says, gently. Her tone calls to mind large wings spreading overhead to shelter them, even though she cannot move. “As many as it takes for thou to properly convey thy thoughts. I will remember them all for thee.”

With that, she falls silent, resting in her cage and dreaming of Bahamut.

In portents of crystal light he is there as a shadow, swimming through the clear waters of Silvertear in the distance. They do not dare reach out and call for him as he glides freely through the depths. They do not think he will hear them, anyways. Not when Hydaelyn’s voice is a whisper that makes the air vibrate and fills their fragile mind to the brim with Her blinding blessing.

Still, there is a sense of safety when he enters their periphery, when his elongated body coils around them protectively even if the glint in his eyes is dim. _I am here,_ this phantom says, fins twitching to catch their attention for a fleeting moment. It is difficult to focus on their Mother’s words long after he sinks to the lakebed.

Finally, they stand in Mor Dhona, at the shore of Silvertear. The warrior gazes upon the _Agrius,_ and the skeleton wrapped around it. Steel, fire, and all-consuming light faintly touch their senses at the sight.

For the first time there is something close to stirring, in the back of their mind. The aether shifts languidly in the same swirling patterns it does when he conjures himself, despite nothing materializing next to them.

They feel the tender flesh of his children against his great claws, newly hatched, as they burrow into the nest he’s made with his body. A halo of fire burns along his mane, the flames hotter than the brightest star but the warmth softer than anything before when he shelters his brood from the cold night. He is _tired,_ and is grateful when the waves of Silvertear cradle him as he sleeps atop the Mother’s radiant light in the deepest part of the lake.

They spare a glance towards the Crystal Tower, wondering when they will cross the gates and bid this world farewell. A leap into the unknown without his guidance makes them hesitate; the thought of being alone terrifies them.

They peer into the waters of the lake, through jagged stone and bursting flora, hoping to see a serpentine body near the surface or a coiled form at the bottom. Out of the corner of their eye, Midgardsormr’s maw has curled upwards into the semblance of a smile.

 _You are not alone,_ the playful flick of a tail long says. A low, mirthful sound echoes in the base of their skull. _You never have been._

They turn, hoping to meet a visage of scales and fathomless power. They're greeted by only the hum of crystals as a breeze weaves through them.


End file.
